A Warden's Christmas Carol
by tere moto the sentry
Summary: A Superjail! version of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. The Warden is bitter around Christmas, and ensures that everyone feels just as miserable. Will one night and a handful of ghosts be able to change his mind?
1. Christmas Eve

Author's Note: A multi-chapter Christmas fic as a gift to my readers. Merry Christmas!

Disclaimer: "Superjail!" and related stuff belong to its creators and Augenblick Studios._ A Christmas Carol_ belongs to Charles Dickens.

A Warden's Christmas Carol

Christmas Eve

'Tis the season, 'tis the season. Christmas—one of man's most treasured traditions. Whether religious or not, all can enjoy the warmth, the togetherness, the spirit of giving…but not all do. Those who do not regard Christmas should not be punished, but some are particularly bitter around this time, and some attempt to spread that feeling to those around them.

The Warden of Superjail was not by nature an unhappy person; he was quite the opposite by far. Normally blissful, flamboyant, and oblivious; around Christmas he was unusually irritable and withdrawn. A large reason was that his birthday came around in mid-December, and while that would make most anyone else happy, the Warden hated the fact that he was getting ever older. But another big reason was that his staff was—distracted around this time, preoccupied with the events of the coming 25th. Warden could never get them to focus entirely on their work as they normally did. The problem only got worse as that glorious day drew closer.

So here Superjail's leader found himself on yet another December 24th, hunched over his desk at the phone, disappointing the newest staff members who did not yet know the norm this time of year.

"No, I do _not_ give off for Christmas, I do _not_ give Christmas bonuses, and I do _not _condone Christmas parties!" he told a dejected employee. "And why should I? Injustice and crime don't take off for the holidays, so neither should incarceration." As the man on the other end tried to reason with him, the Warden slammed the phone down on the hook. He laid his arm down in front of him and dropped his chin into it. With the other hand he took hold of the one trinket that adorned his desk. A small snow globe, which he then turned upside-down and right-side up again. Artificial snow began to fall over a tiny replica of Superjail. A gift for his recent birthday. Jared had had it custom-made. Warden wasn't sure why he kept a reminder of Christmas on his desk, but he concluded that it was because it portrayed his beloved empire. Still, he growled under his breath that it mirrored the scene outside his window. Snow fell every year on Superjail at Christmas, and try as he might, the Warden could never will it away. This never did anything to improve his mood. And speaking of which, another thing that did not improve his mood was the arrival of another employee to his office to plead for yuletide.

"Sir, are you busy?" his accountant rapped on the door.

"If it's about Christmas, then yes," the jail keeper hastily snatched some nearby paper and made the noise of writing. "I'm sunk in paperwork."

"Sir, please? It won't be long."

"Oh, fine, Mr. Whiner," the Warden flung the papers over his shoulder unceremoniously. "Come in."

Jared entered and immediately paled at the sulking face of his boss. "Sir, I'm sorry to bother you like this, but I managed to find the funding for Superbar to be repaired. If you could just sign the work order." He approached the desk and held out a form. Warden roughly grabbed it, scanned over it, and scribbled his signature, returning it to Jared within a minute.

"Now I'm sure I know what you're really here about."

Jared swallowed hard. "Well, sir, I…I have worked exceptionally hard this month, and—"

"_Forrrgeeett_ it, Jarie-Jare," the eccentric employer asserted.

"But sir!" Jared begged, "I'm exhausted, and I haven't had a day off in months!"

"Boo-hoo!" the Warden snapped unsympathetically, "Back to your office! I'm sure there's more work to be done somewhere. Now go!"

His accountant, dismayed, reached the door before adding a final memo. "Oh, and Warden? Bird is really sick and Gary's done all he can for him. If he isn't placed in the infirmary—"

"Our Doctor is not a veterinarian," Warden stated.

"Sir, he needs medical care—"

"So do hundreds of other inmates, and I don't give it to them either!" the prison's overlord stood and propped himself up on straight arms, hunching his shoulders. It gave him a much more powerful appearance, causing Jared to cringe. He backed away to the door and mumbled one lat thing before leaving.

"Merry Christmas, Warden."

Nightfall was painfully slow (to the Warden) in coming. He spent Christmas Eve night the same way he had spent Christmas Eve day: sulking. He stayed in his office, doing paperwork, dreaming up more contraptions for the jail, and playing paper football with himself. After a dinner of bean-and-bacon soup (which always tasted like gruel when the cafeteria ladies made it) he retired early to bed for a lack of more ways to pass the evening.

Upon changing to nightclothes, a knock and a short string of mechanical sounds came to his bedroom door.

"Come in, Jailbot."

The robot entered and beeped questioningly at his father.

"Yes, Jailbot, I'm going to bed," Warden told him, "Not much else to do tonight. Make sure everyone stays on task for me, okay?"

"Beep."

"That's my boy," the Warden settled into bed, "Goodnight, Jailbot."

He turned over to a comfortable position before being slightly startled to hear Jailbot's parting words:

"Beep beep, beep."

He had never heard that phrase before, but he could have sworn it meant "Merry Christmas, Daddy."

He'd barely had any sleep when he was jarred awake by no force apparent. He saw nothing but his usual surroundings, and heard nothing but the whistling wind outside. But listening closer, he thought he heard clanking and dragging of metal along the floor outside.

"_Jailbot! Alice! _An inmate's escaping!" he called out, and was about to search for his video pager when…something entered the room. He thought at first it was smoke, but rather than coming from under the door—or through any opening, for that matter—it came through the door. As the Warden watched, frozen in bewilderment, he realized it was a human form. A glowing human form. More frightening yet was that he recognized the apparition, but he recognized the person as someone who had been deceased for many years. No, it couldn't possibly be…

"Who-Who are you?" he inquired in a shaky whisper. The smoky figure was laden with chains, which dragged along what seemed similar to jail cell doors. Despite the fact that he and they looked intangible, they seemed to weigh him greatly.

"Warden of Superjail…" the figure called in a haunting moan.

"I s-said wh-who the hell are you?" The fear the Warden tried to hide from the intruder showed anyway.

"In life I was your father, the Prison Mogul," the smoky man told him, "I've come to bear warning, my son."

"Father—that's impossible!" the living man squeaked in fear. "You've been dead for nearly a century! Damn soup; making me hallucinate."

"I am but a spirit now, my boy," the Prison Mogul explained, "Yes; I know I was never a big believer in the afterlife, but look at me now!"

The Warden stared deeply into the man's eyes, and his hunched shoulders slowly relaxed. "…Father…Is that really you?"

The other man nodded and reached for him. "Son…"

"Oh, Father!" Warden cried out, taking the Mogul's transparent hands in his solid ones. "I have so much to show you! I've built my dream jail! Come, come!" He sprang from the bed and led his father to the window. "See? It's my Superjail!"

The Mogul was less than gleeful. "Um, yes, my boy—that's actually what I mean to talk to you about. You see, I made some terrible mistakes in my lifetime, and I don't wish for you to do the same."

"_Make mistakes?_ Father, I have succeeded! I rule this huge jail with an iron fist! I've followed in your footsteps, Father, and you were always a genius!"

"Son," the ghost looked him in the eye, "I always feared you would turn out like me. I am weighed with these chains and cell doors; the things I valued most in life. I was wrong in what I did; I valued business and power more than I valued the welfare of my staff and inmates. More than I valued _you._"

"…Father…"

"Here is the ordeal, boy," the Prison Mogul explained, "Tonight you are to be visited by three more ghosts. They will be showing you the error of your ways, and hopefully you will come out as a better man. Speaking of which, I should be leaving. The first ghost will be arriving next hour on the hour, and each of the other two a consecutive hour after that."

"But Father," the Warden said pleadingly, "you won't be staying while I go through this?"

"I shall always be with you, my boy," the Prison Mogul placed a spectral hand on his son's shoulder. "Merry Christmas, son!" He backed away in preparation to evanesce. Watching him, the Warden was struck with one more thought.

"Father, are you really forced to carry those heave chains around?"

The Mogul regarded the mentioned weights. "Oh, no, these are just for show. Hopefully they did their job. Goodbye, son!"

As the man in nightclothes waved, the man in chains returned the gesture and faded.

The Warden didn't remember whether he slept or not before the clock struck one.

Author's Note: Though I've never found any canon evidence to back it up, I used the notion presented in several places that the Warden controls the weather. I don't know.


	2. Christmas Past

Author's Note: Spoilers of the episode "Mr. Grumpy-Pants" in this chapter.

Christmas Past

The Warden ducked under the covers, buried his head under the pillows, trying desperately to drown out the horrible chiming of his clock. It was 1 a.m. His first ghost promised was to arrive.

On cue, the wind whipped harder outside, and Warden nearly kicked himself for taking a peek. A lighted form came into clarity in the room. To his genuine surprise, the ghost was not frightening or threatening at all, but rather that of a child; a girl of perhaps four. A very familiar little girl…

"You…" He sat up to regard her.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past, Warden," the child informed him gently.

"…Cancer…?"

She nodded with a small smile. "That's what those sweet men called me."

The Warden cringed in a wave of nervousness. "Couldn't I have…a different Ghost of Christmas Past?" He did not want to spend an hour with someone whose death he had been partially responsible for. Particularly someone so young…

"I'm afraid _I_ was sent," she floated towards him.

"But—I…you…"

"I'm not here about though," she smiled warmly to him and extended a hand. And for the first time, the Warden noticed a small medical bracelet. He cautiously reached out for it, rising from bed. He looped a finger through the bracelet and peered closer.

"Cancer…?" he paled in realization. As she gave him a sad little nod, he drew back in shame.

"I…always _did_ think that was a strange name…"

Cancer shook her little head dismissively. "But that's not the kind of past I'm here about." She floated to the window and held out a hand. "Now come."

"But—But I can't fly!" Warden exclaimed.

"Take my hand and you'll be fine."

"Now, now," he crossed his arms defiantly. "If I had been more responsible, you might still be alive. How do I know you're not seeking revenge?"

She looked at him with shining eyes. "It's Christmas…and I'm just a kid…I'm not after revenge. Come with me." A twinkle shone in her eye. "And I couldn't hate you if I tried. We have the same birthday."

The Warden stared at her, unsure, for the longest time. Finally, his eyes never leaving hers, he reached out and took the tiny hand in his big one.

Immediately he felt light as air. Cancer rose and began to pass through the windowpane, and he found himself involuntarily following her. Out they flew into the winter night sky. The man yelped and clung to the girl with both hands.

"I've got you," she reassured him. As the two flew over Superjail, he became slightly more relaxed; enough to realize that he was not at all cold in just his nightgown. Furthermore, he noticed that his beloved Superjail was becoming less and less familiar along the way. It was…dull—gray—_colorless._

"Where _are_ we?" he exclaimed to her.

"Christmas Past," Cancer replied simply.

Warden watched, unsure of what to expect, as they descended upon one drab building in the midst of the mundane prison.

"Father's office."

"The only place he was this time of year," she reminded him sadly. She brought him to the window and in they came.

"Father?" he called to the busy man at the desk. The Mogul failed to acknowledge him.

"He can't hear or see us," Cancer explained. "We are ghosts here; observers. We can't change the past." She floated to the Warden's father and placed a hand on his shoulder. "He was always here on Christmas Eve; alone, working. He never gave his employees a holiday break, a holiday bonus, or a holiday party. He never even allowed them to celebrate with their _own_ Christmas party."

"Sir, are you busy?" a voice was heard at the office door. The Prison Mogul looked up and scowled.

"If it's about Christmas, then yes," he began writing harder and faster.

"Sir, please? It won't be long."

"Fine! You are quite the whiner Jarald; you know that?" he slammed his pencil down on the desk.

Jarald entered and immediately paled at the sulking face of his boss. "Sir, I'm sorry to bother you like this, but I managed to find the funding for your statue to be repaired. If you could just sign the work order."

"This all sounds familiar," Warden smiled proudly. Cancer looked back to him with a most disappointed look.

"Selfishness isn't nearly as glamorous as you make it out to be," she said sincerely, "Watch."

"Now I know why you're really here. Forget it, Jarald."

"But sir—!"

"I said forget it!"

The accountant, dismayed, reached the door before adding one final memo. "Oh, and Prison Mogul? Your son is really ill, and the doctor's done all he can for him. He says he really wants to see his father for Christmas—"

"Well then, why doesn't Uncle Jarald get his work done early and go see the boy for me?"

"Sir, it wouldn't be the same."

"Then _don't,_" the Mogul turned back to his work, "Just leave me to my business."

"I…forgot…" the Warden said unhappily. "He never did visit me for Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Mogul."

Warden looked up to see a dejected Jarald leave the office.

"Well, I guess we're done here," Cancer took her hand off of the man's shoulder and returned to the Warden's side. "Come." On her word, the two vanished.

The Warden next found himself in a dark bedroom, dimly lit by a flickering candle on the nightstand. Nearby was a child-sized bed, and the Warden came closer to peer in at its occupant. A very small boy shivered and shuddered under the blankets. The Warden reached one hand out gently to his past self. He touched the child's quivering shoulder as the bedroom door opened.

"I'm sorry, young master, but your father won't be swayed," Jarald was sad to report.

"He's…not coming to see me?" the boy asked, "Not even once?"

"I'm sorry," the accountant shook his head, "How are you feeling?"

"Much worse now."

"You see?" Cancer told the present Warden.

"Well, sure, he never had time for me," the Warden turned to her, "but he had better things to do. More important matters to attend to."

"I'm sad to hear you still feel that way."

"Now are you trying to tell me my father was wrong?" Warden tried to look offended.

Cancer gave him a most sincere look. "I'm not here to judge your father and his values. I only want you to change yours."

"Well, I'm not yet convinced to do so."

"This is why I'm not the only one in on this," the little girl smiled, "Anyway, my hour's about up. Time to go." She took hold of the man's hand, and they were in his present bedroom in a flash.

"Well, good luck, Warden," she bid him, "and Merry Christmas."

The Warden took a deep breath as he looked upon her, and then spoke. "Listen—Cancer…I…I wasn't quite myself that birthday. I don't know what I was thinking and…_I'm sorry._"

The sparkle came back to the child's eye. "I guess my mission's complete then." She smiled at him and disappeared.

Being so caught up in the moment, the Warden almost did not hear the clock chime two.


	3. Christmas Present

Christmas Present

The Warden hid under the covers upon hearing the 2 o'clock chime. He cringed, waiting—but no one and nothing came. After listening his closest for five minutes and hearing nothing, he dared to peer out over the blankets. He was startled and filled with dread to see two white-robed figures standing at the end of the bed. But delighted to recognize them as two _living_ people he knew.

"Twins! Am I happy to see you!" he cried out, ignoring the fact that he had not heard the techno music that usually accompanied their arrival.

"We're sorry we're late," Twin #1 intoned.

"You're just in time!" Warden flew out of bed and lunged forward, embracing a twin in each arm. "Oh, Twins, you have to hide me! Teleport me anywhere but here! There's this ghost due here any minute to show me the error of my ways or some such and I need you to help me! I can't stand to see another ghost! I know this all sounds so crazy _but it's Superjail for God's sake!_"

"Your ghost is sorry for being late," Twin#2 supported his brother's statement. The Warden looked up with panicked eyes and noticed the faded image of his dresser in one of the robes. The Twins were transparent.

"_You're…_" he jerked away from the brothers.

"The Ghost of Christmas Present," they answered in unison.

"You're…_dead?_"

"Why no," Twin #1 told him. His brother continued the reply. "Not the real Twins, that is. We are merely taking a form more familiar to you. The real Twins are in their lab, unaware of us."

"The _Twins_ are unaware of you? I just can't win tonight," the Warden crossed his arms and sat back on the bed.

"Time to go, Warden," #1 prompted.

The Warden slid back and took hold of his headboard. "I'm staying here."

For intangible beings, the Twins imposters were considerably forceful. The two grabbed a strong hold of his arms, each linking an arm with one of their own, and teleported him away.

When the three reappeared, the Warden recognized the place as his accountant's office.

"Ha! At least I'm in my own time!" he gloated. "Jared! Get these two out of here!" He ran to the man at the desk and attempted to shake him, but his hands merely fazed through Jared's shoulders.

"We are ghosts here as well," #2 told him.

"Now watch," #1 instructed.

"Oh, this night's going to go on forever," Jared said as if on cue. "Yet another Christmas Eve organizing bank statements." He reached an arm out to the side—through the Warden's torso—and grabbed a large bottle in his small hand. He took a long gulp before setting it back down.

"He turns to alcohol big time when he's stressed," #1 reminded the Warden.

"Comes this close to relapsing from rehab," #2 held up two fingers to exemplify the measurement.

"_His_ problem," Warden insecurely crossed his arms.

"As an employer…as an acquaintance, you _could_ offer him some support," #1 suggested.

"Especially since alcohol only fuels his depression," #2 added.

"The depression that's lasted fifteen years."

Warden cocked his head. "Isn't that half his life?"

"We're afraid so."

He turned back to Jared. "I don't recall him saying anything."

"We doubt he ever gets the time," Twin #1 nodded to the paperwork that littered the desk.

"Are we…Are we done here?" The Warden was growing increasingly uncomfortable with being here.

"We _do_ have plenty of ground to cover," the Twins agreed, and linking arms with him, whisked him away again.

Warden recognized all too well their next destination, as he had stared at it for many hours on end through the camera he'd installed—or rather he had stared at its _occupant_ for hours on end…He watched endearingly as his long-time crush sat down on her couch with a midnight snack to watch TV.

"Oh, my _Aaallliiicce,_" Warden swooned, "You ghosts aren't so bad."

"She's lonely, you know," Twin #1 spoke up.

"I've been trying to fix that for years…"

"Perhaps if she had more time to know you," Twin #2 suggested, "or if she had more time at all."

"Well, we're on a tight schedule," #1 pulled back a glove to check a watch. "Let's make our last stop."

"A cellblock?" Warden said quizzically upon fading into their last part of the tour. "What does this have to do with my staff?"

"Christmas extends farther than your staff," #1 pointed out.

"Look." #2 gestured to the inmates.

"I made you a little something," one inmate said to his cellmate. The cellmate unwrapped a wad of newspaper to reveal a bar of soap shaped like a snowman.

"I know it's not as good as the soap reindeer you gave me," the first inmate held up the aforementioned item.

"It's perfect."

"Oh, a license plate!" cried another prisoner, "It's nice to know you care."

"Hope you like it," his cellmate said.

"If we ever get out of here, I'll use it."

They both laughed.

"They are subject to constant endangerment and substandard living conditions," #1 showed the Warden.

"And yet they are celebrating Christmas with as much joy as ever," #2 finished.

"I don't see why," Warden shrugged.

"Well, our final subject is right over here," #1 motioned to a nearby cell. The three moved towards it.

A whimpering chirp came from one of the bunks. Gary was knelt beside an ailing Bird, who displayed labored breathing and a high fever.

"What will happen to him?" Warden wondered aloud.

"We see an empty bunk littered with a few stray feathers," #2 foretold.

"Speaking of the future," Twin #1 mentioned, "we should be making way for your last visitor about now."

"I'd personally like to show him one last person, brother," Twin #2 requested.

"We haven't the time."

"It's on the way, my sibling," #2 snapped his fingers and the trio disappeared.

"Right outside my office?" the Warden observed when they arrived.

"Look behind you," #2 tapped him. He did so, and saw none other than his dear Jailbot, plugged into the wall charger.

"You can't really see it at the moment—"

"—but _he_ always misses _his_ father this time of year as well."

"Well, I suppose we must be going now," #1 said.

"One more thing," Warden asked, "If you're not the real Twins, who are you?"

"Coincidentally we _are_ a pair of twins," Twin #1 told him.

"Twin sisters, actually," Twin #2 added.

"In life we worked for this mobile organization called UltraPrison," #1 explained.

"We lost our lives when the ship crashed into some jail in a far-off dimension we were passing," #2 finished.

The two bid him a merry Christmas and teleported away, leaving the Warden dumbfounded. He didn't even have time to hide before the clock struck three.


	4. Christmas Yet to Come

Christmas Yet to Come

"Jailbot! _Jaaaiillbooot!_" the Warden shook his robot, trying his best to wake him. "Come on, wake up! The Ghost of Christmas Future or something is coming!" Having no luck, he was just about to dash inside his office when he saw…

"Jailbot? That was fast; I didn't even see you get up!"

Jailbot didn't answer, and the Warden noticed the oddest thing. The robot was wearing a long white robe—or rather his body seemed to become a robe.

"Oh…no…" Warden eyed behind him, where the real Jailbot was still asleep. He whirled back to the imposter and backed away.

"Okay, I was able to handle the past and present, but…seeing the future? Can't we skip this part?"

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come shook his head—or rather his whole body, in his case. He took an arm out of a side compartment and motioned for the man to follow him. Deciding from experience in the past few hours that he probably did not have much of a choice, the Warden reluctantly complied. But rather than taking him on a temporal flight or a teleportation, the ghost only took him down the hall to a door Warden did not remember seeing before. Christmas Yet to Come extended an arm to take his, and together they fazed through it.

"Since when was there a door at the end of my hall that leads to the—" He finally got an actually clear look at the prison yard. It was barren, torn, desolate—much more so than it normally was. Beyond that, he could see that his precious Superjail was—

"_Where is Superjail?!_" Warden cried out. For all he saw was dilapidated, charred ruins of buildings and machines. His eyes darted to Jailbot for an answer, but he did not receive one. The spirit only turned and passed back through the door they came from. The man followed, curious and yet dreading what he'd see next.

When they came through the door, surprisingly they were not back in the hall, but—

"We're _outside_ Superjail!" he panicked, "We can't be outside Superjail! That's going against my own rules!" He ran back towards the door, trying to faze back through it, but he only crashed into it.

"Let us back in!"

Jailbot, again, didn't answer, but an arm from his side compartment pointed in the opposite direction. Warden cautiously looked, and his eyes widened to see his main staff gathered a distance away. There was an eerie fog around them, and they were all very still, staring at the ground.

"What are they doing—?" He cut short when Jailbot floated towards them. He sighed and followed.

As they came closer, the Warden noticed Jared, Alice, and Jailbot—the real Jailbot—seemed to be significantly older than he remembered them. They were all joyless, gathered around some sort of black stone on the ground. He shuddered to realize it was a gravestone.

"You know, in all seriousness, I'm really going to miss him," Warden was startled when Jared spoke; brushing what looked to be a tear from his grayed, aged mustache.

"But we're better off now," Alice commented as the Warden noticed a few strands of silver in her now faded red hair. "We can actually leave now."

"We were able to leave once before," Jared reminded her, "And we missed Superjail."

"You…always had a great memory…little man…" Alice sniffled, turned to stifle a tear.

The real Jailbot, tarnished and partially rusted, was profusely shedding green LCD tears. He took out an arm holding a floral bouquet and slowly, gently laid it on the grave.

"Well, we best not catch our death out here," Jared tipped his hat to the grave before turning to leave. Tearfully, his companions followed.

"Wh-Wh-Who…is…dead?" Warden cautiously asked the spirit.

The spirit only took an arm out of his side compartment, and pointed. Pointed to the grave. Warden eyed it and turned back to him.

"Just tell me."

The spirit only pointed.

"Please! Don't make me look!"

The spirit only pointed.

Slowly, hesitantly, dreading, the Warden turned and walked closer. It seemed to take him years to approach the gravestone. Finally the fog cleared.

_The Warden of Superjail_

_1762 – 2024_

"No!" The Warden flew back to the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come and clung to him. "Please! _Please!_ Are these the shadows of what _will_ be, or what _may_ be? Please—tell me I can still stop this from happening! I can _change,_ spirit! I can change!" He soon noticed the ghost was…fading.

"No, wait! Don't go!" But the Warden soon noticed he was fading as well…fading into oblivion.


	5. Christmas Day

Christmas Day

The Warden's clock woke him some time later, and as he came into consciousness, he realized that it chimed eight or nine. He sat up and looked around, slightly disoriented but quite relieved to see that he was in his own bedroom.

"It's…It's morning!" he said aloud. He sprang from bed and flew to the window.

Upon opening the pane, he leaned halfway out the window, spotting a passing inmate below.

"You there!" He cried down to him. The prisoner looked up in surprise. "What day is it?" inquired the Warden.

"Er…Christmas?" answered the bewildered inmate.

"Then—Then I haven't missed it!" The Warden hauled himself back up into his room and rushed to get dressed.

Fully attired, he ran through his office and flung open the door.

"Jailbot!" He called out. The robot woke and rose from the charger questioningly.

"Jailbot, my Jailbot! Merry Christmas!" He greeted him. "Listen I need you to hurry. The cooks have to be told to gather what they can to make a Christmas feast for the whole jail. I'm sure not much can be done, but tell them to do what they can, will you?"

Jailbot blinked and beeped yes, and before he could float off, the Warden had sped off down the hall to Jared's office.

"Jared!" He called out, bursting in through the door.

"Sir, I'm working! Don't worry, I'm not slacking off; I—"

"Well, cut it out!" With one large swipe, Warden knocked every single paper off the accountant's desk. "Enough with work, Jarie! It's Christmas!"

Naturally, Jared could not believe what he was hearing.

"Sir, what—?"

"Okay, scratch that; there's much work to be done!" His employer winked. "It's just a much different kind of work. I need you to scrounge together whatever decorations we have in red and green. I'm sure we have no tinsel, so streamers will be fine. Get someone to help you haul it all to the cafeteria. I'll be there to help once I've made all other arrangements. Well, don't just sit there—make some phone calls, spread the word, it's Christmas!"

Jared stared him in the eye, looking as if he could be knocked out of his chair by a feather. "Sir…are you feeling alright?"

The Warden gave him his happiest smile. "Jared, I have never felt better."

As the jail keeper went about his business, he noticed that word of holiday spread quickly through Superjail. Inmates were talking, laughing, cheering, and as he passed the cheers grew louder at his presence. Shouts of "Yea, Warden!" and "You da man!" were heard at every turn in the cellblocks. But he wasted no time in getting to the underground laboratory.

"Twins!" He rapped on the door. It immediately slid open to reveal the Twins, as if they had been expecting him.

"How convenient that everyone is right on hand today," he commented. "Listen, what do you two know about string lighting?"

"I don't know what's gotten into the Warden, Alice, but I like the new him," Jared commented.

Ever the asocial one, Alice grunted in reply. But Jared did however notice the smallest of smiles grace her lips as she hung the final streamer.

"You know, this sudden turnaround somewhat reminds me of a story my parents used to read me this time of year…" But Jared had no time to finish, for the cafeteria doors swung open at that moment to reveal none other than the Warden, leading in an endless stream of inmates.

"Single file; line starts over here; and Merry Christmas, men!" To the Warden's pleasant surprise, they obeyed every word. Seeing things were under control, he pranced over to the designated staff's table, where his makeshift family had gathered.

"Ah, things are turning out perfectly, aren't they?" He addressed the little group as he sat down. All agreed, but then Alice rose and stood over Warden, suddenly blushing as red as the tablecloth.

"I'd better get this over with." She fished something out of her skirt pocket and held it over his head. The Warden looked up to see a twig with bright green leaves and bright red berries.

"Merry Christmas," Alice told him.

"Er, thank you, Alice," Warden scratched his head, a tad confused. "It's…a lovely twig."

"It's called 'mistletoe', Warden," she informed him, and leaned in towards his face. In a moment that he wished would last forever, the Warden shared his first kiss with the love of his life.

And so, for one day all was well and peaceful in Superjail. For one day no one fought; no one was killed. And for one day, not even Jackknife tried to escape.


End file.
